


Strawberry Death

by Kaiyo_no_Hime



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags will be updated as needed, slight Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, there are no happy endings, torture warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyo_no_Hime/pseuds/Kaiyo_no_Hime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a perfect match, a soul mate that is just for them.  But what happens when your soul mate rejects you?  Q knows this pain all to well, forced to work with his soul mate even as it kills him inside to continue to be near him.  But, for Queen and Country, Q endures, and fades away in front of Bond day by day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Q sat, staring at the painting on the wall of the gallery, and cocked his head to the side. The thick brush strokes, the colors, the expression that danced across the canvas. It was truly a beautiful masterpiece, though, he thought, most likely not one to be appreciated by the man he was scheduled to meet.

He felt his lips turn up in a smile when Bond sat down next to him, and then his expression froze on his face. He could feel the tingling electric pulse that was racing up and down his arm, and the warmth spreading through his chest. Oh god, not now, not now. Even through his parka he could feel Bond, could almost smell him.

How could he have found his soul mate now? How could his soul mate be James Bond of all people? He had never cared enough to even look for his other half, had always been of the opinion that he would simply find him on his own, naturally, or would be content if he never found him at all.

But now, here he was, sitting next to the one fate had tied him to, getting insulted. The conversation, his mouth running automatically and babbling in the worst way about the painting, had scalded Bond. A remark about his skin, disdain for his skills.

Q blinked and took a deep breath, pulling the small case he had brought with him to his lap. Surely Bond would be impressed by the technology he had helped create. Surely his soul mate would admire his handy work. But Bond merely huffed and raised an eyebrow at the gun. Clearly it was not up to his standards.

And then 007 had walked out of the gallery, never so much as even bothering to glance back; he had nearly ignored Q completely. Q could feel tears springing to his eyes. Surely Bond had felt it, the unmistakable signs that tied two people together. Everyone was taught, from the youngest age, what to look for, what to feel for, when they came in contact with their soul mate for the first time.

But all he had gotten was a brush off and nearly a sneer. Bond may as well have just kicked him to the floor and spat on him given his obvious dislike of the young Quartermaster. Q sighed, and rubbed at his eyes, it would be no use bursting into tears like a tiny child here. He had work to do, and, even if Bond had rejected him, he stilled owed it to the agent to keep him alive.

Q paused and sighed, and then sniffed at his hand. The pheromone haze. Damn it, he cursed mentally, pulling his coat closer around himself and looking around to make sure no one was there to witness his embarrassment. The pheromone haze was an automatic biological response by his body in an attempt to make sure the bonding was irresistible. It would fade after the bond was completed to a nearly undetectable scent, but, given that Bond had decided against that route of action, it would go at full blast in an attempt to signal to Bond that his soul mate was there, waiting for him.

“Did the drop go well,” Tanner's voice echoed in Q's ear as he stood up and pulled out his phone.

“Your loose cannon is armed and dangerous,” Q replied quietly, pulling up Medical and discretely scheduling himself in for an appointment later that day.

There were ways to block the pheromone haze, well, a single way to block it. A medication, measured to him exactly, in the form of a little orange pill. And guaranteed to cut his life nearly in half, at least. The side effects were terrible: nausea, exhaustion, muscle weakness, hypotension, suppressed immune system, and, eventually, death. But it was better than just sitting in Q-Branch day in and day out, in a haze of his own overactive biological bond response, waiting for something that would never happen.

Anything was worth not feeling this throbbing, empty pain that was echoing through his chest as electricity seemed to dance across the hand that had brushed Bond's as he had made the exchange. How Bond could just ignore the pull like he was Q couldn't fathom, but sometimes some people were strong enough to just shut it down and ignore it.

“Heading back now,” Q whispered, ducking his head as a woman glanced at him.

* * *

The doctor glared at him, staring at the chart and then back down at Q. Q sighed and ducked his head, his hands itching as he scratched at his palms, trying to relieve the awkward feeling that still raced through them. He hoped the little miracle pill could fix that as well, but he wasn't holding his breath. Some things were just beyond modern science.

“This will kill you,” the doctor finally said.

“I know,” Q sighed, “But I need to be able to work. I can't if I'm constantly just lingering.”

The doctor nodded, tapping his pen against the clipboard. They were both employees of MI6, they both knew what the job demanded. They were both willing to give just exactly that and more, ever so much more lately it seemed.

“I want monthly checkups,” the doctor said, “And I we'll go from there. But this should help for a while. Five years, maybe ten, before it becomes an issue.”

“Thank you,” Q smiled weakly, “But I do have one question: what if I'm still in fairly constant contact with my... soul mate?”

The doctor frowned severely, “It will reduce the effects of the drug, and possibly cause an early cascade. Avoid physical contact wherever possible, but even being around them? I would say that cuts you to three or four years before you start having to raise the dosage. The severity of the side effects do multiply with an increased dose.”

Q nodded. His body would begin to build up a resistance, and the medication would begin to build up in bloodstream, becoming toxic. Then his liver and kidneys would start having issues, his pancreas, his spleen. His heart and lungs would start to go next, and then he would begin to go blind. His brain, his precious, precious brain, would eventually succumb. Within a few years of his organs being stressed, even with medications and devices to help clean his blood and counteract the effects, he would drop into a coma and then die.

“For Queen and Country,” Q replied.

“We'll have the medication ready for you within the hour. And Q,” the doctor said sadly, “Try to avoid them. MI6 needs you, but they don't need you to burn yourself out like this.”

“MI6 will always need me,” Q smiled wanly, and then turned on his tablet to check what his department had been doing in his short absence. 

He would wait until the medication took effect before walking through MI6. In an organization full of spies he didn't want anyone knowing just what, exactly, was wrong with him. He wouldn't be able to hold his own with any agents if they thought of him as nothing but a love sick man, pitying him for the bond that would never be completed. 

At least he had one thing going in his favor: Bond wouldn't be skulking around MI6 for quite some time, allowing the medication to fully saturate his system before he was stressed. When the doctor handed him the pills, along with the instructions to take them once a day with food, he smiled and nodded, dry swallowing the first dose. 

It tasted of strawberries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update this fic at least once a week, but I promise nothing. Kudos and comments are welcome as always. Also, does anyone have a good souffle recipe? I really need to find a good one as I'm dying for a good souffle right now, and mine always fall.


	2. Chapter 2

Mallory frowned as he entered Q-Branch, his left arm aching from where he had been shot, and stared at Tanner and the back of the man who could only be Q. Stiff, tense, his fingers going faster across the keyboard than Mallory would have thought possible. A certifiable genius the records had said. They made no note of his odd, whisper off smell that permeated the room.

“Oh,” Q said, turning around to look at him.

Mallory's frown deepened. There was something off in the room. He sighed and stood beside the young man, looking up at his work. The trail left for Silva traced and dotted elegantly across the countryside.

“Good work,” Mallory complimented, resting his right hand on Q's shoulder.

Ah, he realized, that was what was wrong. He stared down at Q and sighed. He should have known. The electric tingle that he thought would be there, that had raced up his arm as he had shaken Bond's hand what seemed to be so long ago in M's office, crashed and scattered against his skin. Medication against the rejection. Bond, it seemed, cared about very little in his life. A soul mate was most likely something he was against.

Double-oh's, it seemed, were as hazardous on home turf as they were out in the field.

“Carry on,” he smiled, trying to reassure the young boffin, and then removed himself from the room.

It was too painful to be in there, really. And there was work to be done.

* * *

Q stared after Mallory for a moment, confused. He could have sworn that he felt something as the older man had touched him, but he shook his head. Three way bonds were so rare as to be almost unheard of. It was just his body adjusting to his medication, he told himself. No one else had touched him since he had begun taking the little orange pills several days previous, and now his system was overreacting, still yearning for what it could not have.

“He's an odd one,” Tanner remarked, looking back at the screen.

“Will he be around here much longer,” Q asked, focusing his attention back to the screen, and back on doing everything he could to help Bond.

“Rumor is that he'll replace M,” Tanner replied, taking another sip from his bottle.

Q snorted. He couldn't imagine M going down without a firefight and a double-oh to pull her kicking and screaming from the office. She was entirely far too rooted in the fact that she was M, and no one else would be while she still drew breath. He sighed, and watched Bond begin the slow trek into the heaths of Scotland.

Maybe a double-oh was pulling her from office after all.

* * *

Q looked down at the report in front of him. Skyfall, just as he had feared, had ended bloody after all. But Bond had survived, and now here he was, looking over the list of necessary equipment for the next mission. He gritted his teeth, and began going over the checklist. Weapons, distress radio, and a USB drive full of the files on the target and his surrounding family. A light case for a double-oh, but Q couldn't stand it.

James was his soul mate. And though Bond had rejected him, Q wanted him safe. Now, here he was, sending him back out into the field to possibly die. This was harder than knowing that he would be in the same room as him, be near enough to touch him, to kiss him, and yet he could do nothing. 

His fingers remained steady as he prepared the equipment for travel. It was the least he could do. R looked over his shoulder, mentally taking notes and keeping track of every movement he made. She was competent and brilliant, exactly what was needed to replace him the day he finally succumbed and retired.

“Why two earwigs,” she asked, distracting him from his morbid thoughts.

“Most double-oh's run through equipment like a child in a sweet shop. 007 more so than most. An extra earwig is always suggested in their kit,” Q replied smoothly.

She nodded, and watched him pack an extra magazine as well. Knowing Bond, a simple infiltration job would result in explosions and shooting. 

“Also, when requested, hold your ground against explosives. They improvise enough in the field as it is, no need to encourage their longing for rampant destruction,” Q smirked. Explosive pens indeed.

* * *

Mallory eyed Bond warily as he handed him the file. The agent was as cold as ever, his poise posture perfect, but the shell of ice that lingered about him never seemed to warm. An Alpha to the core, and Mallory despised it. It was costing him, costing them, everything, and Bond didn't even know it. Or maybe he did and didn't care. Either way, Mallory wondered just how many missions he could send Bond on, back to back to back, without anyone getting suspicious.

“M,” Bond greeted cordially.

“007,” Mallory replied, still eying the man.

Bond's eyes flickered the gun shot wound he received, and Mallory could almost swear he could see Bond frown. Interesting. Perhaps there was something under the ice after all. While he could approach Q safely, Bond may be in need of a few quick, sudden shoves.

Bond took the file that Mallory had out for him on the desk and nodded.

Then again, maybe Bond would never thaw enough to care.

“Try to limit the damage this time, Bond,” Mallory sighed, “Q should have all of your equipment ready.”

Bond snorted under his breath and walked out of the room. Mallory sighed and relaxed into his chair. 007 was a piece of work, and he felt sorry for feeding poor Q to him, but the Quartermaster could hold his own, no matter what was going on in his personal life, he had already proved that. MI6 would not have promoted a man too weak to do so.

* * *

Q glanced up from discussing the intricacies of a blueprint with R just in time to see Bond walk into Q-Branch and bit his lip. He knew it was coming, the scent of Bond lingering on the air, tickling his nose and reminding him, very carefully, of what he couldn't have. If he had been able to he would have dumped the job of arming him in R's lap, but that would have been unprofessional.

“007,” Q greeted coldly.

Bond merely nodded, and Q stood up to lead the agent to the equipment room, nodding for R to follow. Soon enough he would be able to allow her to do this without his supervision, and then everyone would be better off.

He unlocked the door with a hand print scan, and then ushered the two others in, carefully eying the row of drawers on the far wall. One for each agent, assuring that no one entered the field with the wrong equipment, even by mistake.

“And you must be R,” Bond smiled, flirting casually with Q's second in command. 

Q resisted the urge to bristle and turn around to fling curses in Bond's general direction. He had been rejected, cast aside, and found lacking whatever it was that R obviously had. Most likely a nice rack and a feminine giggle, judging from where Bond's gaze lingered when Q turned around with the tray of equipment.

“Try not to lose anything, again, this time 007,” Q snapped.

Bond smirked at R, and then grinned at Q as if what he said had been an inside joke. Q slammed the tray down forcefully on the table.

“No exploding pens still, I see,” Bond smiled, his hand gently grabbing the pair of earwigs from Q's fingers.

Q bit back a hiss, his skin on fire where Bond had made contact, and just resisted pulling it back to cradle against his chest. He glared at Bond, shoving the rest of the tray in his direction and avoiding any more accidents. Already he could feel his stomach turning over and his gorge rising. The doctor hadn't been joking when he had said to avoid physical contact at all costs.

Bond glanced at his hand, Q hoped it wasn't showing any actual signs of where the contact had occurred, even if it did feel like he had been branded, and collected the rest of his equipment in silence. Q signaled for R to see him out of Q-Branch, there were rules about letting double-oh's linger lest they get into trouble, and then sank to the ground when the door closed and tried not to vomit. The world was spinning, and he wished the axis of it would burn.


	3. Chapter 3

Q analyzed the code on his screen, and turned to sneeze. He groaned, and then reached for his now ever present box of tissues without looking up. His hands traced across a stack of paperwork, a box of paperclips, and then found the tissue box... empty.

He looked up, staring into the empty box, and then turned and sneezed again. He must have done something terrible, absolutely dreadful, in a past life to deserve such torture he was sure. He sniffled, and then tossed the box into the waste bin by his desk overflowing with tissues. Out of the entire Q-Branch only he had managed to catch whatever it was that he had, and he was miserable for it.

“Are you okay to work,” R asked setting a half empty roll of toilet paper on his desk.

“It's just a head cold, nothing serious,” Q replied with a groan, and then promptly grabbed several sheets of bath tissue and blew his nose, “It's actually getting much better.”

R raised her eyebrow in disbelief and Q sighed. He knew he looked miserable, but it honestly wasn't a serious medical ailment, simply an annoying one. 

“Besides, I need to be here for 007's mission,” Q defended.

In truth 007 needed no more than a junior tech holding his hand, it was simply intelligence gathering, but MI6 rules stated that only experienced personal were allowed to handle the more intricate parts of a double-oh mission, and Bond was about to enter into one of those. Hopefully he would manage to curb Bond's enthusiasm for his need to express himself with large amounts of explosives during a business conference.

“Will I still be assisting,” R asked, and Q smothered his laughter at the eager twang to her voice.

Oh to be naïve again, and to think that all double-oh missions were exciting and something to look forward to. He would rather sit at a desk and tell people to turn things off and then back on again that listen in on another agent gasping his dying breath. Or have the fear that one day he might hear that from Bond.

“You'll be on comms, I'll just be observing,” Q acknowledged.

To be honest, he was only relinquishing this much control because his voice was muffled and the constant sneezing and snuffling would make him hard to understand. So he would sit back, let R take the reins, and see just how competent she was. He had no doubt that she would be fine, as long as Bond didn't feel the need to spontaneously detonate any explosives at the conference that is.

Q's computer terminal flashed an urgent message icon and Q groaned. Now what was wrong?

He pulled up the message on his tablet, out of sight of R, and rolled his eyes. He, in the rush of the assignment, had forgotten that his medical checkup was scheduled. He thought for a moment, and then shrugged. A few minutes late wouldn't hurt him, it was just a series of blood tests and a glare from a doctor. Being late would most likely only add a lecture to the experience.

“Comm channels are open sir,” R spoke up, focusing on the screen as she pulled up the mission parameters and the hotel's blueprints.

Clever girl, Q thought to himself as he smothered another sneeze. Planning an escape route before shots were fired was certainly useful.

“Now,” Bond's voice was deep and charming, and Q rolled his eyes, “How about we have a few glasses of that wonderful vintage I mentioned up in my room, hmm?”

Q froze. Bond couldn't be doing this. He knew Q could, most likely would, be listening in on this mission at any time. And now, here he was, seducing the target's wife. So there was no sense to it, the files that MI6 needed were stored on his computer, not between her legs. Bond was just having fun, rubbing it in to Q that he was nothing to him.

R blushed as even she could hear the distinct, breathy glide of Bond's lips against the woman's, tracing along her cheek to begin to nibble on her ear. She looked back at Q, eyes wide, not quite sure what she should do. Q motioned for her to check the signal and to make sure Q-Branch wasn't transmitting. Bond's behavior was, unfortunately Q had to admit, fairly standard. Mark or not, he had found someone to bed and he was going to, mission or not. It wouldn't do to give the game away by having her overhear them and wonder why Bond was wearing an earwig at all.

R nodded. They were mute.

“You're driving,” Q said, wincing as Bond and his friend reached the bedroom rather loudly, “I have an appointment to keep. Good luck.”

“An appointment,” R asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

Q cursed having such an inquisitive and intelligent second.

“Medical,” Q sighed, rolling his eyes, and R smirked, “Contact me if you need me.”

“Tell them you need something stronger than cough drops,” R snorted, and then turned back to the console, jacking in her headphones and mic. Q thanked the gods when the sounds of Bond's rendezvous ceased to echo through his ears, and headed up toward the lift, sneezing and gasping as he blew his nose.

* * *

Q sniffled as he walked into Medical, trying to hold in another sneeze, and nearly ran into Mallory as he did so. He looked up, confused, and then took a step back.

“Sorry sir, didn't see you there,” Q apologized with a smile, twitching his arms. That strange feeling from before, that itching, not quite burning, was racing where he had made contact with the older man.

“No, my fault,” Mallory apologized, smiling at Q, “How are you doing?”

“Just a head cold, sir,” Q explained, sneezing again, “Q-Branch has plied me with every home remedy they have, I should be fine soon.”

“Q,” Mallory frowned, resting his hand gently on Q's shoulder, “That's not what I meant.”

Q's eyes went wide, and then narrowed. He knew, realistically, nothing in his medical file was completely confidential. He knew that, as time wore on, eventually M would have to be made aware of his medication usages as it would, eventually, impact his job. But a single month? He didn't think his doctor would turn on him that fast.

“I meant with Bond,” Mallory sighed, “I listen in on his missions as well, remember?”

Q sighed, and then slumped against the wall.

“Sir,” Q felt his voice hitch, “I would rather not-”

“Q!” his doctor snapped, an office door at the end of the hallway flinging open an the old man glaring at him, “You're late!”

“Just a moment, Dr Salsic,” Mallory said, turning back to Q, “Come to my office after, we need to talk.”

Q nodded, and walked toward the office, wondering just how much trouble he was in. He growled at himself, he shouldn't be in trouble, Bond should be the one getting written up over all of this. It was he who was prancing around and rejecting his soul mate to slut it up with an entire continent of marks.

The doctor continued to glare as he closed the door behind Q.

* * *

Q stared at the results from his blood tests, and then turned them over. Upside down they seemed to be as illegible as right side up. He looked up at the doctor and raised a questioning eyebrow, and handed the paperwork back to him. Explosives he understood, blood though? Blood was just red to him.

“Your white blood cell count is low,” the doctor said.

“That's bad,” Q said, remembering from some medical drama years before that white blood cell counts were important.

“You're sick, your count should be elevated as your body fights off the infection. Instead it's dropping. That's very bad.”

“He... he touched my hand, earlier,” Q said softly, “And it burned.”

The doctor sighed, and looked down at Q, and then shook his head.

“That could have made things worse. Most people don't come in contact with their soul mate after being rejected. For now, drink lots of fluids, and get some rest. Come back next week for some more tests.”

Q nodded, and walked out the door, pressing the buttons on the lift to bring him to M's office.

* * *

“That's certainly one way to get access to the computer,” R told Bond, trying to stifle a snort.

Bond had, quite thoroughly, exhausted the woman, and then taken her room key. Her husband was conveniently away somewhere, and now Bond had all the information that MI6 could desire.

“Ah, the marvelous R,” Bond shot back, “And where would the illustrious Q be right now? Normally it's his dulcet tones that seduce me into bringing everything back to him.”

“Q's currently busy in Medical,” R sighed, bored now that there would be no escape route planning for her, “So it's up to me to encourage you to please bring all of your equipment back in one piece.

Bond's footsteps froze, and his voice nearly sounded concerned to her ears, “Why is Q in Medical? What happened?”

“Just a check up, 007,” R said, suddenly curious, “Even support staff are required to get them.”

“No,” Bond said, more to himself than R, “He just had one, they wouldn't pull him in so soon.”

“He does have a killer head cold, maybe MI6 actually does have the cure,” R postulated, “Either way, please bring everything back in one piece, 007.”

“Yes,” Bond's voice was distant, “I'll try to do that.”

The comms went dead suddenly and R sighed, leaning back in her chair with a grin. She found she rather enjoyed being the temporary Q while Q was away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags, in case anyone was curious. Yes, things will make sense eventually, but there's still a road to travel and many journeys ahead before we get there. Possibly. I'm not being very subtle with this fic at all, am I?


	4. Chapter 4

Q closed the door softly behind him, and stared at M across the seemingly vast expanses of the office. Even he had to admit that the new office certainly was much, much nicer than the one the old M had built up around herself. Less modern fortress and more classical British, though Q knew that there was enough tech hidden in the walls, floors, and even the windows to make the old M's office seem a child's play toy. He had helped design some of it, after all.

“Sir,” Q greeted, walking up to the chairs before the desk and sitting when M motioned.

“You know there are very few secrets at MI6,” M began, leaning back in his chair as he paused for a moment, “And that even Medical reports to me, correct?”

Q sighed and nodded. He knew this conference would happen, he had only hoped that it wouldn't happen for a year or two yet. He still saw himself as perfectly able to carry out his job, medication be damned. Obviously someone else saw differently.

“You're a magnificent Quartermaster, Q,” M continued, “You've brought us up to date, and continue to keep us up to date with the 21st Century. But we can't risk that.” 

“I'm not a risk,” Q snapped, glaring at M.

He may be dying, slowly, ever so slowly, but if there was one thing he wasn't it was a risk. Even the doctors would back him up on that, he was sure. Physical ailments meant nothing in his line of work.

“That's not what I meant,” M said, holding up his hands to placate Q, “I meant you working with 007.”

“Bond?” Q asked, his eyes going wide.

“As of right now I am assigning you away from any missions involving 007, and am requesting any contact he has with Q-Branch be done while you are not in the vicinity.”

“But,” Q heaved, his chest tight and his heart pounding, “You can't do that!”

“Q,” M sighed, leaning forward, “I know he's your soul mate. And I know that you're an Omega. The medication you're taking for his rejection will kill you, and MI6 is not prepared to let that continue on the current path. We need you, Q, to help hold us together. Both R and S have passed the necessary testing protocols to handle double-oh missions. He'll be fine.”

Q continue to stare at M, his lungs heaving as his breath wheezed. M couldn't be doing this to him, he was the Quartermaster, he had final say on anyone who ran double-oh missions. But, technically, he realized, M was right. He could do anything he wanted if it was in the name of protecting MI6 interests, and keeping Q alive was very much a part of those.

“How did you know,” Q finally asked, his voice a desperate gasp, “I never told anyone.”

“Intelligence agency,” M told him, his eyes sad.

“May I,” Q's legs protested and wavered for a moment as he tried to find his feet.

“You may,” M answered before Q could get the question out, “And Q, I really am sorry that 007 is such an ass.”

Q let his lips twitch upward in a smile, and nodded his thanks as he quietly slipped out the door. M groaned and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. Leave it to him to be the third broken spoke on a wheel with those two. He stared up at the ceiling, his breath wavering, and realized that, sooner rather than never or later, he would have to tell one of them. Most likely Q. But finding a way to do it without one tearing him apart or the other collapsing was the trouble he was currently having. Two Alphas and a single Omega usually made for tetchy relationships at the best of times.

* * *

Q's footsteps wavered as he walked through the hallway, trying to avoid collapsing against the wall. This wasn't the place, he told himself, he couldn't show weakness like that right there in the hallowed halls of MI6. He would never live it down.

He spotted the men's room and collapsed into it gratefully, locking a stall door and letting the tears stream down his face. He knew the reaction was insane, Bond had rejected him and he should be happy to never be in contact with him again. But, as twisted as his mind was, as much as he also longed to never see Bond, he was still his soul mate. Coins could never be as perfect as they were supposed to be. But, instead, he had been shoved away. He longed to see Bond, to trace his lips and stare into his eyes and see anything but hatred there. Q would do anything to keep him safe, to use every ounce of intelligence and pull he had to make sure that Bond, disastrous Bond, returned home to again.

“Fuck,” Q hissed as he slammed his fist against the metal divider, his fingers hand erupting in pain. But still he continued to sob, reveling in the fire that devoured his hand and mirrored his soul.

* * *

Dr Salsic frowned as he stared at Q's hand, and then looked at the Quartermaster. Tear tracks stained his face, and the doctor sighed.

“I thought I told you to be careful.”

“I was,” Q replied, his voice nearly as vacant as his eyes, “I was very careful to hit a wall that wasn't moving.”

Dr Salsic glared, and then looked up at the x-rays he had taken, “You're lucky, no broken bones. But you have managed to sprain your wrist. I'll wrap it, and I want you to keep it protected for at least the next week. It'll be a little sore, but there's nothing for that.”

Q nodded, holding out his hand for the doctor to wrap.

“And Q,” the doctor said, pulling out a bandage, “If something like this happens again I'll have to pull you from duty, you do know that, right?”

Q nodded again, slowly, but continued to stare at the floor. 

“Q,” the doctor rested a hand on Q's shoulder once he was done wrapping the wrist, “Don't worry. Even M will watch 007's back for you, but it's for the best that you don't.”

Q stared up into the doctor's eyes, and the doctor turned away from their piercing gaze. M was right in what he had done, Salsic had seen rejected soul mates fade away and die before, but it still never got easier to watch.

The door opened and then closed, and the doctor was just glad that Q had left. Their eyes were always the worst.


	5. Chapter 5

The doors to Q-Branch were, as a rule, locked. This, of course, would indicate to normal people without the authorization to get past the lock to go away and leave the boffins to their work. MI6, as a habit, did not employ people who noticed such hints, sadly. Or, at least, the boffins viewed the situation with sadness. In truth most of the agents, double-oh's and non, took it as a competition to see who could actually get into Q-Branch without permission.

It was one part headache for the boffins who were continuously upgrading the system and one part child's toy for the agents that were breaking in. Q, as a rule, ignored the situation. In his mind it was good practice for both sides, and, generally, no harm came from it, although a few double-oh's quickly found that desk drawers were locked with much different mechanisms when a few tried to pillage treats.

This is why Q did not notice 006 when he managed to saunter in to Q-Branch that afternoon. He was busy cursing the thick folds of cloth wrap that were wound ever so carefully around his wrist and making it nearly impossible to work on the delicate circuity on the table in front of him. He needed his wrist, and his wrist just simply wasn't up to the challenge.

“Did the soldering iron fight back,” Alec asked, leaning on the desk next to Q and raising his arm to examine the bandage more closely.

“No, 006,” Q glared at the inquisitive agent, “Sadly it was a wall.”

“Did you fell it,” Alec asked, twisting the arm carefully and frowning, “You obviously need to practice your form.”

“It has a dent, I have a bandage, I think we ended the fight even,” Q sighed, pulling back lightly and bringing the arm to his chest when Alec let it go.

“You smell different,” Alec commented, leaning in and taking a loud, disturbing sniff, “I don't like it.”

“You also don't enjoy returning your equipment,” Q growled, glaring up at the agent.

He knew his medication would alter his smell, but he also knew that it would be hard to notice for nearly anyone not disturbingly familiar with his scent and the training to notice anything even after that. Alec Trevelyan sadly possessed both these talents, and just enough lack of tact to actually not keep his mouth shut.

“If you tell me their name I'll happily kill them for you,” Alec said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“That's not necessary,” Q sighed, leaning back and looking back up at his agent, “The situation has been... handled.”

Alec raised an eyebrow and looked knowingly back down at Q's bandaged wrist. Q rolled his eyes, and turned back to the project carefully laid out on the desk in multiple parts. Alec's hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder, but the agent said nothing more as he looked back over Q-Branch, surveying the crowd.

* * *

R patted at her hair as she walked over to the desk where Q was working, 006 still sitting there and observing him, his eyes randomly assessing the situation. Her glasses were readjusted and she took a deep breath as she sauntered over, hoping what little makeup she wore wasn't smudged. She knew 006 wasn't her soul mate, she was fairly sure that, by this point, she would never find hers, but that didn't mean that eying the eye candy of MI6 and hoping for a little fun was off limits.

“Sir,” she paused and smiled up at 006.

006 simply nodded and nearly ignored her. Her shoulders drooped a little. 

Q nodded and R took that as a motion to continue.

“007 is expected to report back from his mission shortly. M has requested-”

“I know,” Q cut her off, sitting up and glaring at R.

R didn't take it personally. She didn't know, exactly, why Q had been assigned such a stringent set of rules that forbid him from being in the same room as 007, but she could understand why they angered him. He was the head of the department, one of the top officials at MI6, and he was being treated like a junior tech who had spilled tea on the carpet.

“How far out is he,” Q asked, beginning to carefully shut down the station.

“His plane just landed,” R replied.

Q nodded and waived his hand, and R turned to leave, giving a suggestive smile at 006. 006, as normal, ignored her completely, his gaze focused on Q. She sighed as she walked off, and then regained a little of the skip in her step when she remembered that 007 was also easily available, and a lot more interested.

* * *

“What's going on,” Alec asked as soon as the little minion was out of ear shot. He knew she was throwing herself at him, but he just didn't care. He hated the obvious ones, he could pick up women in cheap bars for a quick lay if he wanted without the complication of running into them at work.

“It's nothing,” Q said, his voice eerily steady.

Alec caught his wrist, gently, and Q looked up at him, his eyes blank. Alec frowned, and then put his arm down.

“If he hurt you, you can tell me,” Alec said.

“No, it's not that,” Q replied quickly, “It's nothing, really. I need to hand in a report to M anyway, this is just perfect timing.”

Alec's gaze narrowed as he watched Q quickly make his escape. He knew 007 had issues with members of the staff, and had become a living thorn in the side of nearly everyone in administration, but he very much doubted his friend would actually do something as crass as hurt Q. And yet Q was fleeing as if the room was ablaze. He would have to have words with his fellow double-oh about this, very, very specific words. Alec was fond of the little boffin, the man's gadgets tended to come in handy, and while he was a stickler for getting things returned he honestly seemed to understand the issues that came up in the field, which was rare for Q-Branch.

Yes, Alec decided as he slid into Q's chair and leaned back, watching the door, there would be words.

* * *

Q puttered in the stairwell briefly, wondering what he should be doing. There were no meetings, he didn't want to see medical, and he, very specifically, did not want to see M. He checked his watch again and cursed. Only five minutes had passed. He was simply grateful that he had thought to grab his tablet so he could bring up the security cameras and track Bond in the building. Of course, he glowered to himself as he sat down on a step, he felt like some sort of pervy peeping tom when he did it. 

M's orders be damned, Q yelled at himself, jumping to his feet and reaching for the door, he was the Quartermaster of MI6, he could interact with all of his agents professionally without needing M's permission!

His hand paused on the handle, and then he took a step back with a sigh. Who was he kidding? Every time he came in contact with Bond something bad happened. Medical had warned him about it for a reason, it was killing him, and MI6 needed him far more than Bond needed him. Bond, quite clearly, didn't need anyone.

Q sat down on the step again, and watched as Bond casually stroll into Q-Branch. His face began to go red as he watched R practically fling herself at 007, and then his eyes misted over as Bond responded. His soul mate, his one, was busy talking up his second in command. He turned off the tablet and rushed up the stairs, making for the exit. MI6 could operate without him for the rest of the day, he had better things he could be doing.

Better things anywhere but in the same building as the two of them.

* * *

Alec rolled his eyes as he watched his friend chat up the little minion that seemed hot to trot for any agent with a working penis. He didn't know how Bond could do it, even though there were no rules against it at MI6. But, to Alec, it was still one of the most important rules in his book: don't shit where you eat.

“And what brings you here so early,” Bond asked with a grin, sitting on the desk, carefully avoiding the sensitive project.

“Some of us like to finish missions early to relax at home,” Alec said, watching as R tottered around nearby, all of Bond's attention clearly going to her head.

Bond followed Alec's gaze and rolled his eyes.

“If you had told me you were after her I wouldn't have bothered,” Bond replied.

And Alec knew the man was honest. Bond liked to fish, but he wasn't against throwing those back that others were after. He always seemed to find another ocean more with every mission, after all.

“No, not here,” Alec nodded his head toward one of the offices that flanked Q-Branch. 

Bond frowned, but nodded, following his best friend out. Even for spies he found this odd. He turned and looked back at Q-Branch, giving R a quick smile as he scanned the room, and then realized what was so off: there was no Q. He had never visited Q-Branch without Q lingering around, working on some task or another, and generally just waiting to yell at him for a lack of returned equipment.

Alec closed the office door behind Bond and locked it, and then turned his glare on Bond.

“What the hell did you do,” Alec hissed, coming close to slamming Bond into the wall.

“Nothing,” Bond said quickly, “It was just a quick mission, a dash and grab!”

“Not that,” Alec hissed, taking a few steps back, “Q's on orders not to be in the same room as you.”

Bond's eyes went wide as he realized just how something like that could look.

“And his wrist? Tell me you didn't hurt him, James,” Alec begged, “They'll put you down like a stray dog if you're biting them.”

“I swear,” Bond growled, turning to go for the door, “I'll kill whoever did it.”

Alec caught his shoulder, and then sniffed at him. Bond shook him off and glared. He hated it when Alec sniffed people, he was one of the few that could actually get anything from it. Some talents Bond wished had died out of the genetic pool, and this was one of them.

“Damn it Bond,” Alec hissed, his eyes narrowing.

“It's for his own good,” Bond sighed, looking back at his friend, “You know what happens to an Omega if their Alpha dies. I can't do that to him. I've burned everyone else, but not him. I can't burn him too.”

“He knows the risks,” Alec told him, still glaring, “It's his choice too.”

“Not if I make it for him,” Bond snapped, and then left the office, leaving Alec to shake his head and curse the stupidity of head strong friends.

* * *

Q deeply regretted simply bolting from MI6 twenty minutes later as he walked home in the miserable London drizzle. His oyster card was conveniently still in his wallet, back in his satchel, in his office. His coat was happily dry there as well. He was just glad that the security for his apartment was biometric, so he would have no problem getting in.

“Got a light, luv,” a woman's voice interrupted his misery and he turned to look.

The cloth went over his mouth and nose, and the bag over his head, before he could even see the distraction. The back of the van, he was nearly grateful, he could feel almost nothing of as they sped off, and his mind went blank.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long, but I had an exam this week and a pile of homework that I should have done ages ago and put off until the last minute. Oops. Anyway, that said, the Bacon Waffle Taco, coated in syrup and chocolate sauce, is amazing and eating three may actually kill you. I need to bread it and deep fry it and coat it with strawberry jam just to be sure.
> 
> All joking aside, please note the tags have updated. This story is going to get very, very dark for a while. There will be torture, and it will not be pleasant. So, if that disturbs you or may trigger something for you, please be warned. Bad things are going to happen to Q and they are going to be done by bad people. Nothing truly happens in this chapter, outside of some minor clothing destruction (not the cardigan!), but I thought it best to start the warnings in advance, and I understand if some of you stop reading after this because of that content.
> 
> All that said, I do hope you enjoy.

Q came awake slowly, his head trying to make connections and simply failing, sliding back in and out of darkness. Q honestly felt as if he were sitting in on his third year Japanese final once again; utterly doomed to failure. It was not his fault, he swore, he was just too busy with his computer classes to properly study. He blinked and looked around, his face feeling like it was trying to melt off his skull, and realized that he was not sitting in on an exam.

He was tied to a chair in a cement room with a drain in the center, and a covered table. He groaned, and tried to move. Covered tables, in his experience, generally meant nothing good. Especially when they occupied rooms with drains in the center.

The door opened, and then closed as a single man walked in carrying a simple wooden chair. He placed it in front of Q, and then sat down and waited for Q to look up at him patiently.

It took another five minutes for Q to regain enough control of his body as whatever they had given him wore off, and he studied the man. A pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt. He had a decent tan, but not excessive, and a shaggy cut of auburn hair. Q would have easily passed him on the Tube without a glance. A face that a spy would die for: completely forgettable.

“Hello,” he smiled, greeting Q.

Q just glared in response. He had no desire to actually make friends with the man, let alone talk to him. His MI6 training was very clear on this point: do not say anything. Give away nothing. His life was valuable, but the information he knew was best taken to the grave. Q reassured himself with the fact that he was high enough on the food chain for an agent to be sent to retrieve him. And, if he didn't survive, at least he wouldn't have to deal with the torture that 007 was already putting him through any longer.

“I under that you don't wish to talk to me, but I assure you, you will,” the man said, continuing to smile pleasantly. Q continued to glare.

“My name is, shall we say, David for now,” he stood up, and Q tracked his face, “It's not my real name of course. There's always the chance that your little agency may rescue you, but, in the end, I think you would rather work with me than against. Water?”

David pulled the sheet off the table, letting it pool on the ground, and poured two cups of water from a glass pitcher that had been sitting there, next to an impressive quantity of knives. He took several slice of lemon, and several cherries and strawberries, and added them to the glasses as well. Q frowned, and then looked away. He was thirsty, but he couldn't risk the water containing something that would loosen his tongue.

“Now now, the water is fine and I insist,” David smiled, sitting down in the chair carefully and then raising the glass to Q's mouth and tipping it slowly.

Q tried to seal his lips and reject the cool liquid, but David gently, but with an impressive strength, held Q's jaw and forced it open, letting the water trickle down his throat. When it became to much, he held the glass back and let Q swallow and pant.

“There, don't you feel better? Dehydration is nasty business, and I'm quite sure we'll be in each others company for a while.”

“Get bent,” Q hissed.

David smiled broadly, downing his glass in a few large gulps, and then placed both glasses on the table and picked up a knife. As knives went it wasn't large, more than a pocket knife certainly, but not something that was foul in design or intimidating. Q watched David let the blade tilt, catching the light. It was sharp, Q could see that easily, and was pleased that at least he wasn't about to be tortured by someone who kept dull blades.

“Do you know what a Beta is, Quartermaster?” David asked slowly, looking up with sad eyes, “Of course you do. Everyone does. A Beta is the sole survivor of a mated pair. A sad little shell of humanity, hollow in soul. Most kill themselves, of course, because that's the better option than lingering. But not all of us.”

Q swallowed nervously. He wasn't a part of a mated pair, Bond had made sure of that. What was the use of a biology lesson to someone to whom it would have no biological impact.

“You see, my Alpha was not a good person. No, she wasn't. But she was intelligent,” David looked from the knife to Q's face with a disturbing grin, “You see, my Alpha enjoyed teaching me how to use the knife. I didn't enjoy learning, not at first, but then I really began to understand the lessons and why I was learning them. How to gently remove the top few layers of skin, not enough to bleed a person, but enough to expose the nerve endings. How to sever a joint, how to gently break and twist a bone. They were very, very educational lessons.”

Q tried not to gulp nervously as David got up, pacing back and forth behind his chair.

“But she went too far,” David snapped, turning and pointing the knife at Q, “She only cared about herself, and me. Not the others, not the others she was supposed to care about,” David roared, “And so I made the decision. It was easy, you see, and that's how I learned what a real Beta is. A real Beta chooses to be a Beta, embraces it, and they become so much more.”

David sat down carefully, and Q eyed him warily. He knew the man wasn't mentally stable, Betas rarely were, but instead of the depression that slowly had them fade away, David seemed to be inhabited with a mania that scared Q. The knife Q feared, being tortured terrified him, but David? He could feel a part of his very soul cringing away from him in a deep, feral panic. Nothing would end well between the two of them in this room.

“I need someone to help my little foundling organization rise, Quartermaster, someone who can do what you do. And all I really need to do is convince you, and then let you practice what I teach you on your Alpha, so you can truly become one of us,” David smiled.

The Beta stood up, and then carefully began stripping Q's cardigan off. A single zipper, and it was open. He cut the tie with an elegant grace, it didn't even pull as David slid it free and let it fall to the ground. The buttons slipped and scattered across the room as the knife traced carefully down the front of his shirt, the undershirt being parted a moment later to expose his chest.

“What a beautiful canvas,” David smiled, setting the knife down and retrieving a delicate scalpel blade, “Now pay attention, this lesson is very important.”

* * *

M sighed as he walked into the office the next morning and saw Eve nervously waiting by the door. Whatever it was it wasn't too urgent as he had not been called, but it couldn't be good if Eve was nearly biting at her nails.

“What is it,” M asked, walking into his office and hanging up his jacket carefully.

“It could be nothing, sir,” Eve started, “But it's Q. He left yesterday without his things, and he hasn't returned yet.”

Mallory turned and looked at his secretary carefully. 

“Has he answered calls,” Mallory asked, hoping the boffin's mobile was simple dead.

“He never took it with him,” Eve sighed, “His tablet isn't responding to tracking, likely destroyed.”

“Dammit,” M cursed, this was the last thing he needed today, “Call a meeting, assume he has been kidnapped until otherwise found.”

Eve nodded and scurried off, and M slumped back in his chair. This was the last thing he needed, especially with an erratic 007 currently haunting Q-Branch. He sighed, and blinked, looking up at the ceiling. Three spokes on a wheel, and now one of them was gone. His world was beginning to burn.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for torture.

Q's eyes were gummed shut, and he fought against the old instinct that tried to blink them open. He didn't want to see the room around him, didn't want to see the cement walls and the cart burdened by the many, many instruments David had been attempting to 'teach' him with. No, Q desperately did not want to see that every again. He could still feel the lines tracing across his chest, whorls and filigree that would have looked beautiful across any canvas but his own skin.

The room was still dark behind his eyelids, and Q let his head hang with a sigh. It wasn't blood loss that had led to him finally succumbing to the darkness, oh no, David had been far to gentle and careful for that. No, it wasn't even the pain. The searing agony as line after line danced across his skin. His teacher had shaded in flowers by carefully skinning the layers of flesh away, painting blood red roses that would never blossom and slashing away to mark out the bleeding thorns that were sharp enough even now to prick at someone's touch.

No, it was something even sillier than that. It had been simple exhaustion. There was only so much a human mind could take, so much it could absorb, before it just eventually shut down. Q had remembered going for days on end in college as he was studying, always one more thing to memorize for just one more exam, but it seemed the more physical lessons he was learning now were just that much more intense. He sighed, and stared blankly into the darkness, nearly being able to piece together the rough cement of the room from screaming memory. He almost wondered how long he had been here, trapped and dazed, but he knew it had to be at least a day, probably more. He could feel the pheromone haze rising around him, indicating that his little pills, his precious little orange tablets, were beginning to wear off.

Soon David would know that Q could never become a Beta because Q had no Alpha upon which to practice this newly learned art. And then David would kill him for his failure.

* * *

Mallory stared at the report on his desk, repressing a yawn, and flipped through the pages, scanning the words quickly and efficiently. After so many years of being a bureaucrat he was very familiar with how to glance at a wall of words and come away with a summary. Unfortunately the only thing the papers were telling him now were the same things they had been telling him nearly twenty four hours earlier: Q had been kidnapped by an unknown persons or group and they had no lead as to where he was being held.

He could just imagine the thin boffin curled up in a corner of his cell, breaths gasping past his lips time and time again, each wheeze frailer than the last, and still refusing to leak any information. Q may be stubborn, but he was no traitor. He would take his secrets to the grave with him, and Mallory dearly hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

But the ink smeared pages in front of him painted a far sadder story. MI6 simply didn't know, and that meant that whomever had snatched him was very, very good at their job. Too good, unfortunately, and even MI5, who were supposed to be making sure that terrorist groups didn't operate on home territory Mallory growled silently, had no clue either.

His head shot up as the door opened, and he sighed seeing it was merely Moneypenny with yet another mug of coffee. He frowned as he saw the angle of the light through the door, and turned and looked out his own windows. Over forty eight hours now, he corrected his mental clock.

Q had been missing for over two days.

“You should take a nap,” Eve sighed, placing the mug in front of him, “Go home, take a shower, change your clothes. We'll call you if we find anything.”

Mallory shook his head, and raised the mug to his lips and barely avoided making a face. He loathed the taste of coffee, the bitterness and heat doing nothing for his nearly empty stomach. But this was not a time for a cup of tea, and besides, every time he looked at a tea bag all he could think was that Q was doing without. He wondered just how much the caffeine withdrawal would lend to his torture.

“No, that would slow things down,” Mallory sighed, and gulped down nearly half the mug in a swift swallow. Oh how he hated this repulsive drink.

A light rap on the outside of the door drew both their attention and M looked stoically at the woman standing there. She was R, he knew all of the people operating below him and their immediate seconds, but he had thought she had gone home hours ago, leaving the night staff to continue the hunt.

“Sir, we may have found something,” R said, he voice rough with exhaustion.

“Don't wait on formalities, dammit,” Mallory growled, “What do you have?”

R quickly scuttled into the room and placed a tablet in front of him, showing him a quick, grainy video of Q walking down the street... and then disappearing in the blind spot.

“Find that van,” Mallory growled, turning to Eve, “Get everyone on it.”

Eve nodded quickly, grabbing the tablet and R and nearly running from the room, the door shutting behind them. 

Mallory slumped back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, his fingers tracing idly over the reports in front of him. They all were hopefully horribly outdated by now, all but one. Dr Salsic's short, distinct, and terrifying report.

Q's medication could not be terminated unless his bond mate accepted him. Unless Bond accepted him. A prolonged pheromone haze was not only uncomfortable, it could be deadly over extended periods of time. Q's captors may kill him because it would start interfering with their mental states and drive them into fight or flight mode after extensive immediate exposure, or it could cause his body to go into organ failure, spending all of it's resources to summon his mate instead of keeping him alive. Either way, they needed to rescue Q sooner rather than later.

Mallory glanced at the clock and sighed. The pills were taken once daily. It took twenty four hours after the first missed dose for the medication to begin to wear off. Somewhere, right now, Q's body was beginning to betray him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not updating in so long. I was busy with finals, and then busy going over to Japan to study for a while, and then when I got back I moved and found out that the illness I caught in Japan was actually bronchitis, and there was about two weeks of being really ill involved (with how many times I've had bronchitis you would think my body would handle it better, but nooo, it tries to kill me every time). So yeah, life and all that.
> 
> Although, in the future, you guys can just leave comments or something. No need to go and track down my private email addresses and Skype accounts to start asking when the next chapter is coming out. Yes, you all know who you are, and yes, it really is just that creepy and weird. Think of it this way: I've been waiting for five years for my favorite fanfiction to update, and eleven years for it to be completed. A few months isn't that long, so calm your butts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a dark fic. Please read the tags, they are not a joke. There is torture in this chapter.

Q groaned softly to himself and stirred, his mouth parched and sweat drying on his naked skin. He tried to open his eyes, fighting against the pain and exhaustion, and then decided that it was too hard. He lay on the ground, the cement cold against his feverish skin, and wondered what he had done to deserve this. Wondered if he suddenly found religion if some unnamed deity would grant his wish to just let him die.

The door opened and Q sighed. There was to be no relief this day.

The person, no, Q counted more than two hands, carefully sat him up and then placed him back in his chair, securing his arms behind him. He didn't know why they bothered anymore, it wasn't like he was capable of escape. He was just too tired to fight against David and his insane ramblings and sharp knives. He wondered if he would get a set of knife work on his back to match his front. He hoped so, having his back left blank made him feel unbalanced somehow.

If Q could have giggled he would have right then. He was cracking and he didn't even know how long it had been. Not long, obviously, if he wasn't completely covered in artwork.

“Have some water,” David whispered soothingly, holding a glass to his lips and beginning to tilt it back.

Unlike with the first cup Q gulped down the precious liquid greedily. David wouldn't poison him. David needed him. A crazy with a plan, and Q was just grateful that his being alive was a part of that plan.

“Slow down,” David chastised, pulling the glass away, “You'll make yourself sick if you keep going like that.”

Q sighed, and when the cup was returned began taking small sips instead. Finally, after the second glass, David gently washed his face with a cloth and Q opened his eyes. His entire body felt like it had been stuck under a truck all night, and even his hair hurt. He grunted at David, and then blinked. Even with his glasses on the world seemed a little off, a little fuzzy somehow.

David tsked and sighed, putting the empty glass on the metal tray with his knives, and then stared at Q. 

“Nearly everyone here is a proper Beta, you know,” David began with a smile, “So sometimes we don't notice things. The small things that the others, the unchosen, seem to see and forget. So imagine my surprise when the guard, the very nice night guard, tells me your room smells funny.”

Q froze. Oh god, he thought to himself. The pill was wearing off. How long had it been now? Two days? Three? At least two if the pheromone haze had returned. Probably three if it had become strong enough that even Betas were noticing the smell. The secret was out of the bag now; David knew.

“You should have told me,” David smiled wanly, petting Q's messy, greasy hair. 

Q bowed his head. Would they kill him now that they knew he was unmated and couldn't become a Beta and join their little terrorist group? They wouldn't let him go, that much was for sure. Maybe David would just walk out the door, lock it behind him, and leave him to burn himself out like a sad little candle.

“I'm disappointed that you didn't trust me with an important secret like this,” David continued, “But it's easily remedied. Someone from your work, I would guess. A pretty little mousy haired thing in accounting? A security guard?”

Q felt the knife press gently down on his upper arm, and then David began to carve into him, connecting to the vines that decorated his upper left chest, and spinning them carefully across his collar bone.

“An agent,” Q whispered hoarsely, his body screaming in pain from the knife and in pain for his mate. His cruel, arrogant mate. The one that had rejected him to chase skirts all day instead.

“An agent,” David hummed, beginning to 'paint' a lily across his bicep, “Male or female?”

“Male,” Q replied, his voice a monotone, his eyes beginning to glaze over.

MI6 had trained him to resist interrogation, to die rather than give up the secrets that lay within his exhausted mind. But David never asked him about those things. No, David, it seemed, just wanted to know about a blond man that liked to see Q suffer, and Q would happily tell David all about Bond. It made the pain of struggling against everything stop, if only for a little while.

“Currently in the country,” David asked, humming gently to himself and lifting the water glass to Q's lips again.

“In country.”

“And why did this mystery man reject you?” David asked.

Q paused, tears beginning to stream down his face, and hiccuped out the answer.

“Because he's ashamed of me. I'm not good enough for him. Nothing I do is good enough for him,” Q sobbed, “Because he only likes women.”

David's knife paused, and he raised the cloth to Q's face, carefully cleaning away the tears.

“Oh, my little piece of art. My beautiful rose garden,” David shushed him softly, “And what is this cruel man's name?”

“Bond, James Bond.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bond paced back and forth across the length of Q-Branch, growling when workers looked at him, and staring at each screen he passed, checking the information that was being gathered. The majority of it had nothing to do with Q, and was, instead, actual work. Schematics on designs, blueprints to buildings they may want or need to infiltrate someday. Bits of code that James assumed were important to someone somewhere.

But none of it was important to him right now. Right now Q was missing, snatched off the street, and it was all his fault.

A hand grabbed his arm and Bond shifted and nearly roared at the person, teeth bared.

“Calm down James,” Alec sighed, not letting go of his friend.

At least James had stopped struggling, indicating that there would be no fight. He began to pull his fellow agent toward the door, intending to get them both out of Q-Branch before someone finally snapped in fear and ended up doing something that they all would regret. Possibly involving large amounts of death, probably involving at least a decent amount of maiming. Not that Alec could blame them, having a double-oh loose and on the warpath in their vicinity would cause anyone to suddenly become very, very nervous.

“They haven't found him yet!” James snapped as Alec closed the doors behind them.

“And you pacing like a caged tiger isn't going to help them do anything,” Alec explained, still tugging his friend along.

“Where are we going,” Bond asked, turning and looking down the hallway.

“To get something to eat, and possibly a lot to drink,” Alec explained, never releasing his hold on his friend and continuing to march the both of them down the hallway, “You'll feel better with food in your stomach, and I'll feel better with you unconscious on a level surface somewhere, not threatening Q's poor little minions.”

James grunted, but continued walking with Alec. His friend was right, he was no good to anyone the way he was now, all taught wire and an explosion waiting to happen. But he drew the line at the drinks. He was no good to Q unconscious right now. Q needed him, that's what was important.

* * *

Mallory stared at the report in front of him. It had taken three days, but they had finally identified the group that had snatched Q from the street: The Equality Army. At least, that was what they called themselves. Normally they snatched mated pairs and forced the one they wanted to murder their mate. Broke the one they wanted into murdering their mate and joining their little terrorist group, claiming that only Betas were truly equal to each other in the world.

They were all mad, let by the psychopath Edward Davidson. Mallory felt a cold chill rising up his spine. He had heard of the man, of the things he had done. Seen the remains of the people he had done them to. They could not get Q out of there fast enough.

The only question that remained was the one that worried all of them: what would they do to Q? Q was unmated, they could not break him into becoming a Beta. Mallory's head snapped up as he suddenly realized that the EA wanted Q and had intended to get the name of his mate out of him. They had no clue he wasn't mated, it was generally just assumed that people were mated if they didn't have a proper scent. And Q was taking those damn pills, he wouldn't have thrown off a scent at all.

“Moneypenny,” Mallory roared, standing up suddenly, his chair collapsing backwards.

The door shot open as Moneypenny quickly stepped inside, her face tired and pinched. Sometimes he forgot that Q was her friend as well as a coworker.

“Bond, get me Bond, now.”

Moneypenny froze, her face going ashen.

“006 took him and left the building an hour ago. He was going to get him drunk to keep him away from Q-Branch because of all the complaints,” Moneypenny explained.

“Dammit,” Mallory hissed, “Send out a team, someone, anyone, and find him. He's the next target.”

Moneypenny nodded and quickly left the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Mallory turned and quickly righted his chair before sliding easily into it. Technically he was the next target as well, but the EA wouldn't know that. Q didn't know that, and if they hadn't made a move on Bond yet that meant they were torturing Q to get the name of his unknown non mate from him first.

Mallory groaned and slid his face into his hands. 

Those bastards were going to force Q and Bond to mate, he realized. And then Q was going to murder Bond.

* * *

Q fought back an agonized gasp as he felt something touch his wrists. David stopped what he was doing and then patted his hair, running his fingers through it, and then Q felt his wrists come free. He was free, he realized. Free to do anything. And all he could do was moan in gratitude as his arms fell to his sides, limp and lifeless, next to him.

“Can't be a Beta,” Q whispered, his throat already parched, his brain screaming with the fever that was running through his system.

“Of course you can, sweetie,” David whispered, holding up another glass of water for Q to gulp down, “We'll find your Bond for you.”

Q felt tears running down his cheeks as he let his head fall forward, staring at the roses that danced across his chest. It didn't matter if they found Bond, Bond didn't want him. Bond would let him die, would probably kill him for Queen and Country, and Q wasn't sure he didn't want that.

He was just so tired of fighting everything.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that some more tags have been added. Suicidal thoughts triggers are going to get very serious very quickly. Poor Q.

David sighed as he closed the door behind him, locking it carefully. He honestly didn't expect anything of Q anymore. Maybe once he was turned, and his mind was clear, he would be brilliant. But in a constant state of broken pheromone haze? He was useless. One the plus side, David grinned to himself as he continued down the hallway, at least it had been easy to break him. He had put aside at least a month to play with him, to teach him, but three days? What a joy indeed.

“Did you get a name, sir,” a young woman asked.

David smiled and gently ran his fingers across the flower bud that lay gently across her cheek. He did so enjoy seeing his artwork.

“Yes, an agent, James Bond. We need him captured and somewhat unharmed. Try to keep the important bits intact if you can. But have your fun bringing him in, if you feel the need to.”

“Of course sir,” she grinned, her lips going wide and exposing her teeth.

David smiled as he watched her turn and go, leaving him alone in the room. It wasn't much of a command center, really, just a tiny little thing to occupy them for now while they were busy breaking Q. He would enjoy being back home, his real home, instead of the desolate plains of England.

* * *

Alec raised an eyebrow as James managed to throw back another whiskey, whistling his surprise. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure if he would have been able to walk after putting away the amount of liquor he had just seen his friend consume. 

“Ah ca' a'mst f'l h'm,” James slurred, his body wobbling in his seat. 

Alec just roared with laughter. He would like to say that he had never believed he would see the day when he drank James Bond under the table, but he honestly couldn't. He had had a single vodka an hour back and stuck to water after that. He had had a feeling, and he had been proven right, that there was no way Bond would stay sober enough to even think, let alone get them both home.

Which was a shame, really, given that Bond was usually the intelligent one between the two of them that walked him home. But the vodka at this bar was watery and over priced, so he was willing to let it go this once. But it would be so much fun using it as blackmail material for years to come, to be sure.

“Of course you can, you bloody fool,” Alec said, watching Bond continue to weave his head from side to side, struggling to maintain balance, “That's why I told you you were an idiot. None of this would have happened if you had listened to me.”

Bond raised his hand and muttered something Alec couldn't understand, but was positive was an argument against.

“I'm the voice of reason. And once we rescue him, you should listen to me,” Alec said, and then sighed.

Bond was completely shit faced now, and that was honestly for the best. He was still desperate, and somewhere deep in his mind he was still going insane with worry over Q, but that part was happily being drowned out by the part that was pickling itself in liquor now. And now that his mission, get Bond to quit scaring everyone at MI6 was complete, he was going to have to lug his friend home and let him collapse on the couch over a trash can. He shook his head, the things he did for friends.

“Another glass,” the waitress asked, and Alec shook his head, handing her double the cash to cover the bill.

“Nah, he's knackered, keep the tip,” he winked.

She giggled and nodded, and Alec made a mental note to return to the bar, alone, for more than a grin and a wink next time. He looked over and rolled his eyes as Bond began to tilt dangerously to one side. His work would never be done.

* * *

Q lay on his side, staring at the blank cement wall in front of him, and wondered if he had the energy needed to groan. He could feel his skin burning, the flowers wilting away and the thorns peeling back under the heat. And the smell. All around him, soaking through him and coming from him. The smell of rejection. The smell that reminded him that, without those sad little orange pills that taster so wonderfully horribly of strawberries, he was going to die. 

At least it would be a fast death, he thought to himself, instead of the lingering fear that he had already come to accept in his life. David had thrown petrol on his little candle and lit the match, and now all the ends at once were burning and melting away. He just wished he could have had the strength to hit Bond once, just once, really hard in the face. Maybe bloody his nose a little, or blacken his eye. To pay him back for making him go through all this.

Q shifted and found that he did, indeed, have the strength to let out a loud, pitiful moan. No wonder Bond didn't want him if just a few days of this had already broken him.

The door opened and David came in, a tray carefully balanced in his hands.

“Hello there,” his captor sighed, sitting down and placing the tray between the two of them carefully. It was loaded with juice and a bowl of what Q could only think was some sort of gruel. Unsurprising, really, given that he wasn't even sure if he could get liquids down at the moment.

“Request,” Q gasped out, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth.

David nodded, and carefully sat him up, resting him against the wall, and placed the straw for the juice against his mouth. Q sucked at it greedily.

“Anything,” David replied, and Q hated the sadness in his eyes. It wasn't his fault, not really. He was just bringing this entire situation to a much quicker end than the lingering years Q had been looking forward to.

“Complete. Art,” Q gasped and panted, “Don't want to. Buried. Incomplete.”

David nodded, and traced the side of his face gently with his fingers.

“Of course not,” David said, his voice gentle, “I wouldn't dream of it. You will be my masterpiece.”

Q nodded faintly and tried to smile. He liked the thought of someone thinking he was beautiful. He would be beautiful, when he died.


	11. Chapter 11

Alec sighed and let James slump to the ground, his drunken friend leaning against the side of the car and refusing to even attempt to climb in. He tapped his foot on the ground angrily. On the one hand manhandling him into the car would be perfectly acceptable, it's not like a few bumps or bruises would affect him all that much. On the other hand, Alec sadly remembered Bond taking revenge for being manhandled on several occasions by leaning over and vomiting over the entirety of the driver's of the car. And, though they were very dear friends, Alec wasn't sure he would be able to resist doing worse than simply manhandling his friend if he was forced to have vomit cleaned from his very nice, very expensive leather seats.

Unfortunately for Alec, the woman smoking on the corner, outside of the bar, chose that time to attempt to solve the problem by pulling a gun from her purse and shooting at him.

He swore and dove to the side, rolling to the other side of the car and reaching for his gun. It was a tiny thing, not really meant for anything but self defense just in case crazed drunks like the woman opened fire at him, but it would do. He swore as she kept walking toward him, putting more holes in his car.

“Bitch,” Alec shouted, taking off his shoe and throwing it at her.

“You missed,” the woman laughed, and Alec grinned.

The shoe exploded and flung the woman forward off her feet, head first into the still open car door, knocking her unconscious. Alec calmly walked around the vehicle, ignoring the people streaming out of the bar, screaming, and the still mostly unconscious James Bond, and calmly broke the woman's neck.

Yes, she might have been a lead, but Alec very much doubted they would have ever gotten anything out of her. Maybe a few comments, but trace evidence from her body and some work from Q-Branch would do much more than hearing her drivel about never speaking and never turning on her friends.

After a few years all agents gained a sixth sense about such things. Some terrorists talked and pissed themselves, some, Alec turned her head, tracing the carved flower in her skin carefully, just didn't.

Bond groaned, leaned over, and began puking into the gutter. Alec sighed, but at least it saved him from cleaning puke out of his car. Though, he thought as he looked at the broken remains of his vehicle, maybe there was no point at this point, really.

“This is 006, need an emergency pick up. Yeah,” Alec sighed as the MI6 agent on the other end of the phone just sighed, “007 is with me.”

* * *

Mallory stared at the meaningless sheets of paper on the desk in front of him. Moneypenny had informed him that Bond was being brought in after he had been attacked. His condition was, apparently, nearly unconscious and severely ill, but 006 had happily informed the collection team that it was not from the attack itself. Mallory was just grateful that they had tried to take Bond alive instead of just killing him, and then leaving MI6 to find Q's corpse dumped somewhere along a road, alone and cold.

The clock at the edge of his desk, and antique monstrosity that someone had dug out of a vault somewhere to make his office look sophisticated, interrupted his brooding with it's echoing noise. Every second it marked off another moment that he had failed Q. Another moment he had failed to rescue him. Every moment he had failed to do anything but sit in his chair, useless, and could do nothing but stare at the clock that continued to tick. Continued to remind him of his failures.

Mallory stood up slowly, leaning against the desk, and then straightened. With a roar he took a hold of the edges and toppled the the wooden behemoth, and then stood over it, panting. His shoulder twinged, reminding him just how bad of an idea that had been, and he looked up as Moneypenny raced in, gun drawn. Of course, he had nearly forgotten that she had been just outside.

She stared at the mess of his office, and then looked to him, warily.

He sighed, and waved his hand.

“It's nothing. Is 007 here yet?”

“He's in medical now, sir,” Moneypenny said slowly, lowering her weapon.

Mallory nodded, and then stepped around the desk.

“Can you,” he paused, and then looked down at the desk and the mess of paperwork spread across the floor.

“I'll have it cleaned up by the time you get back, sir,” Moneypenny answered sharply, and Mallory nodded.

At least she understood, Mallory thought as he stormed down the hallway, still brooding, or at least understood the job well enough to know what to expect. Though he doubted that the previous M had ever tossed her desk across a room, she didn't quite have the back for it, really.

* * *

Bond, even as intoxicated as he is, growls at the nurse in his room and looks for something to throw at her. The nurse turns her back and leaves him, wrapped in blankets and in a warm bed, and IV feeding fluids to sober him up into his arm. If it wasn't for the situation Mallory would find it hilarious. But now it's just sad. 

Sad and pathetic.

The nurse doesn't notice who he is as she storms past, her face a thundercloud of anger. Mallory can't blame her, he would be livid as well having to deal with 007 on a good day. Now? Bond was lucky she had left him conscious and alive when she exited the room.

“Shut up, Bond,” Mallory snapped, locking the door behind him and slumping down into the chair next to the bed.

Bond sneered at him.

“No,” Mallory snapped, speaking before his soul mate could get a word in, “This stops here, and this stops now. This is all your fault, you know.”

“How,” Bond demanded, his voice growling as he tried to straighten.

“If you just hadn't rejected him,” Mallory rasps, “If you hadn't driven him off... why do you think he was out there that night? While you were busying playing around with his little assistant?”

Bond froze, his face going ashen as he collapsed back onto the pillows.

Mallory snorted. Of course Bond hadn't realized yet the exact math of the situation. And while it was cruel, and Mallory could feel the world cracking below his feet, it was necessary. Someone had to end the pure stupidity that had lent itself to the situation, and he was more deserving of wielding the mallet than anyone else.

“They're after you Bond. You're the perfect bait now.”

Bond nodded, turning away from Mallory.

“Anything.”

* * *

David sighed as he watched the news. He had known it would be difficult to bring in Q's mate. An MI6 agent wasn't a milk maid, after all, but he had hoped the man would at least be a little more elegant about his defense. Random explosives? How passe.

Q truly was deserving of being a Beta, if only to get away from such a hellion.

“Sir,” the man came through the door behind David, standing at attention and waiting for David to acknowledge him.

“Yes,” David asked, not even bothering to turn.

“It's the prisoner sir,” the man paused, “He seems to be having difficulty breathing.

David cursed under his breath and strode past the man and down the hallway. He had known that Q was in bad shape, it was inevitable once he came off his medication the way he did, but he needed him alive! If they had just been able to snatch his soul mate this could have all been done and over with by now.

“Send a team, we need that agent,” David snapped back at the soldier that was following him.

He paused in front of the Q's door and sighed, listening to the harsh, gasping breaths from inside. Fate truly was a fickle bitch, he thought, as he entered the room.


	12. Chapter 12

In and out. In and out. Q took a breath in, and then gave it right back. He took a breath in, and then gave it right back. Gasping as his lungs choked on the air, his throat screaming for him to let it rest, his mouth dry, his lips cracking. But still he struggled to live, giving in to his body's screaming needs, ignoring the pain, ignoring the little voice that was whispering for him to just surrender. All it would take, he told himself, was to just choke a little. To couch out a little too hard, to not have enough energy to take a breath back. To let himself suffocate, his life fade, and to finally give up.

But Q ignored that voice, cursing at it as he felt David shouting something in the background, and gasped in and out, forcing his chest to keep rising. He could feel the fever burning around him, his body too dehydrated to allow him to sweat any longer. It wouldn't be long now, he knew. He could struggle all he wanted, but soon, ever so soon, even he would run out of strength.

Someone else entered the room, and then a mask was placed over Q's face. It didn't make breathing any easier, his lungs still ached and burned with the effort, but he could feel his body begin to respond. He was getting more out of his gasps now, more oxygen was hitting his system. He let his eyes flutter open, and he turned he head toward David weakly.

“Don't try to speak,” David whispered, stroking the side of Q's face delicately, “Bond will be here soon. Then everything will be better.”

Q tried to nod, his head dipping slowly, and then let his eyes flutter shut. He needed to save his strength. Even with the oxygen, there was only so much his body could do to survive; soon even that probably wouldn't be enough.

* * *

Mallory looked over the plans, and then looked up at R, Bond, and Alec. Moneypenny sat to his side, also studying the notes. While she may no longer be a field agent, it didn't make her input any less useful. In fact, given her sharpshooting abilities, it made her advice invaluable, though Bond would argue against it. Too afraid to take the shot on her own, Mallory could hear him arguing, too dependent on an outside finger to pull the trigger.

It didn't matter, Mallory wouldn't risk her in the field with Bond anyway. While he didn't doubt her skill, he did doubt her nerves around 007, and this wasn't a time to test to see if she was washed out or not.

“Are you sure the tracker won't be found,” Mallory finally asked, looking up at R.

R nodded sharply, adjusting her glasses with a stubborn finger, glaring at Mallory as if he had just insulted her mother. Mallory held in a snort. She may not be Q, but Q had chosen her as his second because she was damned good at her job.

“It can't be noticed by scanners, it's almost completely unnoticeable as anything but a shirt button, and it can broadcast for one hundred feet no matter the interference, a full mile range with zero heavy interference.”

Mallory nodded, “Replace all of Bond's buttons with them.”

“I already have, sir,” R replied smartly, and Mallory smirked.

Leave it to Q to train his people to step up and start the battle while the rest of them were still looking over blueprints and making plans.

“You have your position, 006,” Mallory asked, looking over the map of the city square they intended to use as the trap.

Alec nodded, and pointed at the third story window of an apartment complex.

“Here's good. A great shot if needed, and it's quick enough to get down the stairs and track once they grab him. Knowing him, we'll need to clear out the square beforehand, there's going be a fire fight of some sort or they won't believe it's the real Bond that they're grabbing.”

Mallory sighed and nodded. He had thought of that. Unfortunately, there was no real way to clear out any section of the city in London without people getting suspicious and beginning to ask questions. They could use the excuse of filming for a movie, that seemed to be popular these days, but it ran too many risks. Having to set up cameras and equipment simply wouldn't work.

He glared up at 007, and Bond glared back down at him. He would have to trust Bond, just this once, to not completely destroy everything and completely ruin their chances of saving Q. And while Bond honestly did seem to be distraught by Q's disappearance, there was always that amount of professional pride that may get in the way.

“It won't be an issue,” Bond finally said, the fingers on his right hand tracing across the front patio of the coffee shop, “I'll be here, waiting. Newspaper and something disgustingly American sized to drink. A few random shots when the grab me, I'll try to knock one of theirs out for you to nab in the fight, and 006 will track the button.”

Mallory nodded, and sighed, leaning back in his chair. It was honestly the best they could do in emergency short notice. But, with a crew like 006 and 007 running together, it would likely run as smooth as silk. The two knew how to call shots and work around what they needed. A secondary pickup crew could grab anyone left over after the fight, and a third, heavily armed, crew would be on standby for the final coordinates.

Whatever happened, whatever may come to pass during this clusterfuck of a day, they were getting Q back. That Mallory swore.

“Get in positions. We'll leak the information in one hour,” Mallory snapped, watching as the three of them left the room, R parting ways to scurry back down to her lab.

“Do you think it will work,” Moneypenny asked, glancing over the plans with a raised eyebrow, making notes in her head.

“It could,” Mallory admitted, looking over at his assistant, “Which perch are you aiming for?”

“Hotel, seventh floor. Better shot angle.”

Mallory nodded, and then dismissed her as well. It was not Bond she would be aiming at, but the vehicle itself. A few trackers on the car would be very useful too, just in case Bond managed to lose all his buttons along the way.

But no matter what went down today, this was most likely their only shot. If they managed to bungle this, the EA would be in the wind, and MI6 would be fishing their dead Q from a river somewhere. And Bond? There was a chance that Bond would either be in that grave as well, or put himself in one on the warpath he would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw 'Big Hero 6' this last weekend, and it was amazing. That movie, and 'Guardians of the Galaxy', have been my favorite movies so far this year ('John Wick' is also pretty amazing too).
> 
> My only big gripe with BH6 is that it had me in absolute tears for half the movie. There I am, an adult, and I'm bawling like a baby, and the five year old next to me asked if I was okay. Some random five year old, as I don't have one, is honestly just asking if the strange woman next to him in the theater is okay because she's having some sort of mental breakdown and sobbing because of a children's movie.
> 
> A great movie, but I felt like the writer's of 'Up' got heavily involved somewhere along the way, and the feels are heartbreaking. 
> 
> So yeah, that was my weekend. It was great!


	13. Chapter 13

Bond quietly refolded the newspaper and took a sip of the now cold tea that sat before him. It hadn't been good tea when it had been hot, obviously burned and nearly tasting American, but as far as cold tea went it was positively revolting. He would wish death upon the leaves that had brewed it, but he was nearly completely sure that leaves had never been involved in the brewing process. Sticks, possibly, but not leaves.

He let his eyes run over the dreary political article once again and blamed the Americans. It was their revenge for something that they felt slighted for, he was sure.

“You're making faces,” Alec sounded in his ear, and Bond resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Couldn't we have chosen a nicer cafe,” Bond asked, taking another slow, practiced sip, and didn't bat an eyelid this time.

“Too many people at the others,” Alec laughed back, and Bond grunted.

He wasn't surprised in the least. Any decent British would avoid an American coffee chain in England of all places. 

The white van that pulled down the street and parked carefully across from his immediately had all of his attention. A quick shot of static across the comm showed that Alec, too, had spotted them and was prepared. There was no need for words now, just the brief reminder to himself that he was supposed to be taken. A brief struggle, enough to get one or two of them down for MI6 to grab, and then let them take him to Q.

This was all for Q. To save Q from a pack of zealots, and from himself. He kicked his foot carefully against the table, the secret little compartment giving him a fuzzy warmth. Q's medication was in there, it would save the Quartermaster, and Bond would have it sewn into every piece of clothing Q owned after this so nothing like this would ever happen again.

The window behind him exploded as bullets began flying through the air, and Bond ducked calmly down, they wanted him alive after all, and ignored the screaming of pedestrians. He took careful aim, and then released his finger on the trigger as he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. 

Well, that was a surprise to say the least.

“Hands up Mr Bond,” the voice, masculine and gravely, ordered.

Bond complied easily, raising his hands and allowing his gun to be taken. 

“I'm sure you find this quite surprising, but your country has need of you,” the voice chuckled, and Bond began to look back in confusion.

That was when the butt of the gun hit him, and darkness attacked. He could faintly hear Alec cursing as gunshots were exchanged on his end of the line, and then silence.

* * *

When Bond woke up, groggy and in pain, he groaned and thumped his head back. His shoes were gone, as was most of his suit. He hoped that at least a single button had popped off during the ride simply to give MI6 a chance of finding where they had gone, but he doubted it. Anyone thorough enough to strip someone of their clothes for no reason most likely knew that those clothes might be bugged.

He turned over and looked at the chuckling man that was staring at him and tossing something up and down in his hands.

“You do know that it's rude to poison someone, Mr Bond, do you not?” the man asked, and Bond went white as he realized that it was Q's medication that he was playing with.

“I prefer agent,” Bond growled, turning over and struggling briefly with his ropes.

They were beyond methodical, he quickly discovered to his horror; they were competent. 

“I'll make a note to have that inscribed upon your tombstone,” the man practically giggled, and then carefully set the pill on the floor and ground it under his foot, “You see, I have such plans for you. Such lovely, lovely plans. You shall be buried as his masterpiece once he joins us.”

“He'll never turn,” Bond growled, tensing as he felt the van begin to slow, the wheels crunching over gravel and dirt.

“He already has,” the man smiled, leaning down and tracing a finger along the side of Bond's cheek, “He begs to be completed, to finish his awakening. To blossom into the delight the world always intended him to become. And you are here to help him. To issue him passage into our fair land.”

“You're mad,” Bond snapped, spitting at his face.

The man just chuckled, and looked up when the back van doors opened, and Bond felt a shiver rise up his spine. The people standing there had eyes that frightened him. Glazed, mad, and devoted, with scrawling flowers carved across their faces.

* * *

“Mission objective confirmed,” Eve smiled, watching the van trail away down the street, three trackers embedded in it. 

“Good job,” M smiled, watching as Q Branch began to follow the signal, and nodded to Tanner.

Tanner could monitor the devices, he had a raid to help plan. One way or another, his Q would be safe within the bowels of MI6 by the time the sun set.

* * *

Bond leaned back from the door they had dragged him in front of, his senses screaming as he felt the smell, the very scent, of Q's panic clawing at him. It was one thing to be near someone going into a pheromone haze, but this was something beyond anything he had ever even heard of. He was nearly whimpering, fighting against his instincts, trying to escape. He couldn't do this to Q, not Q too. He couldn't curse him to a life of being attached to a double-oh. 

He wouldn't be able to forgive himself for that.

“Open the door,” the man said calmly, and Bond nearly screamed as he fought against his captors.

This wasn't the plan. MI6 was supposed to be here, they were supposed to rescue Q and give him back his medication! He wasn't supposed to be exposed to this, he kept repeating to himself.

He didn't think it would be this bad.

Q lay inside the door, blankets covering him and an oxygen mask strapped across his face. His breathing was coming out in pained, whispery thin gasps, and it hurt Bond's soul to even look at him. Bond didn't think he was conscious to see what was going on, to even notice that he was here. He was dying, and Bond doubted that there was anything MI6 could do now to save him.

All that was left of him now was a fading memory to carve upon a memorial wall.

“You precious sleeping beauty awaits,” the man smiled, and then began to pull Bond into the room despite the agents struggles. 

The man turned and shrugged, pulling out his gun. Bond just bared his teeth, a gun was no threat to him, they wouldn't kill him, they needed him too badly to kill him now, if they truly wanted Q turned to their psychotic little cause. The man shrugged with a smile, and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the tardiness of this update. I'm not going through a difficult time at college, just a busy and stressful time. My professor keep expecting me to hand in papers and do homework! The nerve!
> 
> I'm also applying to study abroad in Japan for a year to complete my minor because the university I attend just took a bottle of napalm and a flamethrower to the foreign language department and reduced it to bones and ash. Foreign language departments tend not to put out a lot of sports stars or attract them, so they're not really seen as worth the budget, sadly. Top it with the university trying to kill the foreign exchange program as well, well, it makes trying to complete part of one degree very difficult. 
> 
> But I should finish this fanfiction, barring me needing to go 007 on the university to convince them to let me complete my Japanese degree (and add some fun literature credits to my English degree), within the next week or two. I've already got a chunk of the next chapter written, I promise.
> 
> Hope everyone is having a better year than I am at this point!


	14. Chapter 14

Bond dropped to his knees, teeth bared and growling as he felt the steady, unforgettable thump a bullet passing through his right shoulder. Blood began seeping into the fabric of his suit, flowers blossoming down his chest and arm as he continued his struggle with the madmen that held him steady.

The man with the gun just grinned and shook his head, turning to look down at Q. 

And then Bond noticed it. A slight hitch in the rise and fall of Q's chest. A stutter now, but it would grow worse. Q could clearly tell that Bond was nearby, if not on a conscious level, and his body was beginning the final, fatal dive.

“He beckons to you,” the mad man with the gun smiled, his pupils dilating.

Bond sighed, a groan escaping his lips as he shifted his right shoulder, and let himself drop, completely limp in his captives arms. His vision swam, and all he could see in his mind was Q. A small, faded lump, lying on the floor, dead to the world, and still calling for him. Singing a sirens call to bring him to him, and Bond knew that it would be nearly impossible to resist if he began to struggle now.

So he dropped and surrendered. He hadn't the strength to fight the battles on two fronts. Not like this. But he could fight Q, fight for Q, if he surrendered to the minions and their crazed leader. It would buy them time, not much, but MI6 wouldn't need much.

He only had to fight until MI6 swarmed the compound and saved the day.

Bond closed his eyes and let his breath heave as he was dumped next to Q, the smell running riot in his mind and through his body, and prayed. For the first time in a long, long time he prayed that MI6 showed soon, or all could be lost.

The door squealed when it shut, and Bond let his mind drift, holding himself rigidly away from Q, and let the smell of his own blood distract him.

* * *

The piercing light of the afternoon sun swept over the barren ground that surrounded the looming industrial buildings. It hadn't taken MI6 long to pinpoint exactly where Bond had been taken, and for a team and a chopper to be launched immediately.

Mallory checked his gun and his ammo as the helicopter skirted the hills, trying to stay as far out of sight as possible. The zealots of the EA were notorious for just how hard they fought; catching one of them alive would be a lucky score for MI6. But Mallory wasn't counting on that. Shoot to kill, rescue the Quartermaster and Bond, and get the bloody hell out. Those were the orders he had issued, and those would be the orders that would be obeyed.

MI6 had alerted MI5 to the location, let them sweep in and take out the trash if any remained alive after they were done with them. It simply wasn't their job. Not the most professional of opinions, Mallory knew, but he was still seething internally that MI5 had managed to miss yet another terrorist group operating on home soil.

After he was recovered, Mallory would have to have Q check MI5 files internally to see if they had been compromised. You could only trust an ally as far as they were trustworthy after all.

“Comms gone,” the pilot said suddenly, and Mallory turned to the control panel and watched all communication with the outside world disappear.

R had been right, the entire area was a manufactured dead zone. Mallory fought back his grin, and nodded to the strike team behind him. MI6 was well practiced in how to operate in the dark. As long as the helicopter still flew, the mission was still a go. 

He motioned for the pilot to land them. They could do a quick recon and then spring whatever trap was waiting for them. As long as they rescued Q and Bond, Mallory repeated to himself, the mission was a success.

* * *

Q struggled to breath as he tried to roll into the warmth that was resting heavily next to him. His mind purred and coaxed his eyes open, forcing him awake long after he had pleasantly begged to never escape the darkness again. But his eyes fluttered open, and he was shocked to come face to face with Bond.

He raised his arm, struggling against gravity, sliding it along Bond's slumped form until it reached his face, and let it pause there, dangling across his cheek, framing his left eye, and sighed. After all of this, all of the pain, and the torture, and the forgiveness, Bond had come to him. He had to smile at that, to let the last sight that would dance across his sight, the last image he would drag across the river into the darkness with him, would be Bond. His Bond, no matter how much Bond fought it and denied it, this was something that he could never take from Q.

He pulled the oxygen mask from his face, a lumpy thing that blocked his nose and made him dizzy, and gasped at the scent of Bond. Bond, his Bond, his soulmate. His rejected loved one that had shoved him into the dark corner of the world and locked him away. Q smiled and sighed, petting Bond's face as he forced his lungs to keep working.

“I,” he wheezed, feeling the air flowing over his vocal cords, “Forgive you.”

And then Q leaned into Bond, resting his nose against the other man's cheek, and sucked in a deep breath.

Q closed his eyes, and smiled as his breath escaped, and attempted no more to fight his passage through the darkness and to the worlds beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does the little 'I'm Evil' dance*
> 
> Cliffhanger of DOOM!
> 
> I should be updating soonish. Barring even more poetry being thrust upon me, and the University screwing up my study abroad applications again. Thankfully I've found a way to bypass all of that and speak directly with the other University. They're much easier to deal with and seem to actually know how to do things.
> 
> So woo, I have written an evil cliffhanger to celebrate! Because that's what people do!


	15. Chapter 15

A hand was held up, almost invisible in the shadows of the side of the building, and then a nod. One man aimed quickly around the side of the building and took the shot, the silencer quietly turning the sound from a lion's roar to barely a kitten's mewl. The target dropped, their head barely recognizable as the corpse fell, and the person at the front of the line signaled again.

All clear.

Mallory nodded, and motioned quickly with his hand. While they knew that Bond and Q were both here, most likely in the same room, the complex was not a large one. With this much ground to cover, six buildings in all, it would be impossible to do the task as a single team. Quickly they were divided up, only two men with himself, and they disappeared into the shadows.

The double-oh's weren't the most dangerous staff that MI6 had on hand. The double-oh's were simply the most flashy. The giant warning sign telling everyone that if they let such people as their agents play fast and free in the light, what must they be keeping hidden away behind the skeletons in the back of the closet? 

No, MI6 had a variety of tools to spread out on the table to choose from, and they were all good at their jobs.

Mallory tried the handle of the door and nodded when it turned. The two men flanked him, and Mallory threw the door open and withdrew to the side, allowing the men to gauge the threat of the hallway from the sides. They both nodded and Mallory returned to the front. Empty but lit, with clear signs that people had been here.

He smiled to himself, the smirk smearing across his face behind his mask; he could almost feel the thrum of Q and Bond in the air. A clean operation was always the best, and this one had gone off without a hitch. It worried him slightly, the EA were not light weights, but clearly this had been a low key operation. If Q had been bonded to anyone else it was entirely likely that the EA would have already turned him and been out of the country by now.

They had not been prepared for the might of MI6 it seemed.

* * *

David growled and stared at the monitors. He had known this was coming. It was impossible not to plan for a situation like this given what he had done; you simply do not snatch the head of IT from an international spy agency of any kind and expect to wander away without them even putting up a fight. He had sent the majority of his people scattering to the wind before they had even grabbed Bond, wary of catching an agent out in the public like that.

Them catching Bond at a cafe with barely a fight had been the largest trap signal he had ever seen. But they had needed him, had needed him to turn the little suffering puppet that begged for each breath yet, and pleaded with David to be finished, for David to complete him. So they had triggered the trap, and now he was watching what few men were left to him to keep up a ragged appearance being gunned down and murdered in cold blood.

If David had less control he would have grabbed a gun and ran out into the open, firing wildly and claiming they would never capture him alive or some other mundane, cliché line. He could have planted explosives all over the building and detonated them, killing himself, Q, and everyone he could possibly lure in at the same time.

But David was not some sad little villain. He knew how skilled MI6 was, and he knew that he had no chance in a fire fight, alone, with any of them. He also knew that detonating explosives in a reinforced concrete structure did not guarantee death, simply lots and lots of pain, and David had no love for pain.

No, David thought to himself, David had planned to win. So he picked up his gun and began walking toward the room where Q and Bond were being held. He may not live through the day, but he would still have Q. He would always have Q, even though he would always regret not finishing what was left of his tapestry. And, while Q would go back to MI6, the seed would be there. And that, David smirked to himself, was what counted; the seed would always be there, waiting patiently beneath the surface to blossom forth and flourish.

* * *

Bond rolled over and growled, nearly whimpering as he gazed at Q. His Q, not his Q, his Q never again. This had not been a part of the plan, Q dying. No, he wasn't supposed to be this far gone, past the brink of survival, he had not been told that it would be like this.

And that little voice that screamed in the back of his head that he should not bond with Q under any circumstance, was quickly beginning to be silenced. As much as Bond had stayed away, insisting to himself that it was for Q's own good, that would mean nothing if the man died now. So using what was left of his wits, he rolled over and sealed Q's nose with his hand, and breathed for him.

Q's chest rose and fell, and Bond felt the quavering heartbeat continue to inch along beneath his fingertips, cursing as the blood smeared across Q's neck in a gruesome reminder of how dire the situation was.

He breathed for Q again, and again Q's chest rose and fell, but the heartbeat grew no stronger.

Bond growled to himself, grateful that Q's heart was beating as he didn't think he would be able to do compressions given the shape of his arm, but he couldn't keep breathing for Q forever, and he couldn't try to signal MI6 from wherever the hell they were until Q could breathe.

And then the door creaked open.

* * *

David smiled sadly as he watched Bond glare at him, and then administer mouth to mouth again.

“This was not my intention,” David sighed, leaning against the wall and looking down at both Bond and Q, “He suffered, yes, but only as a flower does in winter, waiting for the spring to finally come.”

Bond's eyes bored holes into him, but he ignored him, looking down at the gun that was in his hand. He couldn't shoot Bond just yet, the bond hadn't been formed. He had to wait, patiently, like a gardener watching the blossoms beginning to bud on the trees. There were always a few that needed to be pinched off for the stronger to survive, but not yet.

First, he had to wait.

“He'll die if you don't bond, you know,” David smiled, watching Q's chest rise and fall with Bond's breath.

“No, he won't,” Mallory said, stepping through the open door and putting a gun against the back of David's head.

David froze, he hadn't even heard the steps echoing through the hallway, and cursed himself for not locking the door behind him.

“Bond,” Mallory asked.

Bond breathed into Q's mouth and shook his head.

“Heartbeat, no lung function,” Bond responded, cursing at Q for giving up.

“Just bond with him, and it will all be over,” David crooned, staring down at the flowers that were beginning to wilt white along the side of Q's face.

Mallory didn't bother to look away from Q and Bond as he pulled the trigger, David's dead body slumping quietly to the ground between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue after this, so it's nearly done!
> 
> Also, possibly the only reason this was updated today was because I'm currently supposed to be writing a two page essay analyzing a poem. I'm not a poetry person. I've actually nearly written the entire essay, so I don't know why I'm avoiding it, but a full time job and full time college meant my mind was beginning to sizzle, and I wanted fanfiction. And then remembered I was being the kind of writer I hate: the one that never updates.
> 
> So yay updates! If there is no update next week there will not be one for two weeks as I have to take care of some business and won't have my laptop with me, and I don't write well on tablets or smart phones. But there's only an epilogue left, at least.


	16. Chapter 16

The Quartermaster of MI6 never went anywhere without a long sleeved shirt and a cardigan covering his body, not even in the hottest depths of summer. Given that most of his time was spent in the heavily climate controlled bowels of MI6 many people chose to ignore the slight oddity. A few thought he had been scarred in some way while kidnapped, and his clothing was his safety net in some form or manner.

A very few knew exactly what it was he was hiding. 

The roses the scrawled across his chest and arms were not exceedingly visible, but Q's odd habit of stroking at them would mark him immediately were not for the knits he loved. It was easy to dismiss the casual hand movement the pulled the little pills from his cardigans and sweaters, such things were simply a bad habit.

Many agents just dismissed it as something that would forever prevent him from ever entering the field. A tell as bold as the sky.

Every time Bond saw Q's hand move gracefully and unconsciously he winced internally. If he had been better, been a better agent and a better man, Q would not have such a marked habit. Q's hands wouldn't be bothered tending to a bloody rose garden.

* * *

Q's eyebrow rose as Bond stood before him, his fists clenched at his side and his face a mask. It wasn't unusual, these days, for him to witness the silent statute that 007 had become, but he always wondered if he would be there to see when the man broke.

“Reporting, sir,” Bond finally spoke, his voice flat.

Q snorted and dusted away at his arm, his fingers quickly tracing the lily that was drooping there. The twitch across Bond's face, nearly unseen, showed him that the other man had seen. It was a bad habit, he knew, stroking the flowers, but he enjoyed it. It reminded him that he was powerful. That he was wanted. That he was desired.

And, to be honest with himself, he also enjoyed watching Bond suffer. The little twitches and pained eyes made him happy in his own way. It was a cruelty that was learned, and Q while may not have considered his torturers the best, he certainly considered himself an exceptional student. And so he stroked his flowers thoughtlessly and watched Bond creak and strain under the pressure.

Not enough to break the man, but enough to remind him. Q may have forgiven him with his dying breath, but now he would live to haunt him. The world was funny in that way.

“Shouldn't need too much,” Q hummed to himself more than Bond, “It's just an information retrieval. Try to keep the violence down to a minimum.”

Bond paused, his hands tightening into fists.

If there was one other good thing that had come of all of this it was 007 finally learning restraint. No more needlessly lost weapons, no more random acts of terrorism. 007 had gone from an exceptional agent to become _the_ agent. His name was now a hallowed legend that whispered through the halls.

“Of course, Quartermaster.” Bond nodded.

Q placed the gun in his hand, letting Bond's fingers brush dryly against his palm.

There was no pain, there was no suffering. There was just a hollow feeling that a pulse should be where there was none. An empty slot on a full bookcase.

Q smiled, and turned back to his computer. It was against protocol to hand out materials in the middle of Q-Branch as he had just done, but he always did it with 007. It reminded everyone in the room that though he may be young, he was the one that kept the dog on the leash. He was the master of his domain.

His private phone buzzed and he grinned as he checked the text.

'Chinese?'

He shook his head and hid a silent laugh as he let his hand dip briefly over the whorl of a vine. Bond hesitated at the door, watching, before leaving. He replied with an affirmative.

There was no guarantee that both he and Mallory would be able to be in the same room to eat said dinner, but that was the benefit of being the soulmate of the head of MI6: they both understood. The world worked against them and their country, but they had each other, and that was almost always enough.

Q smiled, and went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story concludes. I do with to apologize that it took so long, I really did intend to have it completed a year ago, but such is life. I now live in a new apartment, soon I'll live in a new country, and none of this was anything like I thought it would be a year ago.
> 
> Hopefully the passing of time has been kind to all of you as well.
> 
> And yes, I gave Q a happy ending. Nobody thought I would, but I just couldn't torture the poor man any longer. Even he deserves his silver threads.


End file.
